Slightly Off the Mark

I was busy killing Nazis when everything became perfectly still. Not a bird chirp, not a breath of wind. The light around me turned a strange green. Kind of like the olive-colored kitchen appliances that used to be so popular, and please don't build those again.

Everything seemed to almost glow from within. It was enough to make me forget Sgt. Rock and just stand there, gazing upward.

And that was it. The light turned normal again, and I headed into the barn to back up The Haunted Tank. We lived out in the country where we couldn't hear sirens, the TV was turned off, and portable alert devices were things I saw on Star Trek.

It was part of the 1974 Super Outbreak, one of the worst tornado outbreaks in history. 148 tornadoes rampaged across 13 states, killing 330 people. The one that came so close to me was an EF3, and it killed three people, injuring 38 more.

Somehow, I didn't find out until years later that a tornado has passed two miles from where I stood. 

The March 30 storm damaged the roofs of two Noble County Highway buildings, less than a mile from our home.

Maybe not knowing is why I became fascinated with the sky, but never developed a fear of storms. I'm one of those morons who would be out in the back yard, scanning the sky, while sane folks huddled in the basement.

Being a volunteer firefighter and storm spotter gave me an excuse, but didn't make me any smarter.

Either way, having the tornado sirens go off while you're standing in the shower is definitely attention grabbing.

I dressed in the basement, and the worst of it seemed to be over when I dashed through the rain to work. But it wasn't, for me: I work in the Noble County 911 center. There are normally two or three of us there. I arrived half an hour early and found one of my shift partners already there. Including a trainee, there were five of us, then six, and we were overwhelmed.

Our power went out twice; our radio system stopped working once; our business phone lines stayed down all night, leaving us with one backup cell phone. (Honestly, we used our own a lot.) Meanwhile, every fire department and every on-duty officer in the county raced from place to place, checking on damage and downed utility lines, clearing trees, and keeping their eyes on the skies. Between 4:40 and 8 p.m. we entered 76 calls, almost all for storm damage.

No injuries. The very definition of it could be worse.

I actually took this a few days earlier, but you get the idea.

In bordering LaGrange County the storm flipped an Amish buggy, killing one man. Meanwhile, not far to the north, an ice storm flattened northern lower Michigan. On the other end of the storm system ... a blizzard.

As I write this, we've just had still another tornado warning, thankfully short lived, and a tornado outbreak to the south and west of us ... and east, now that I've had time to check the weather channels.

I told someone over winter that I had a feeling this would be a bad weather year. Wish I remembered who, so I could say I told you so. But I'd rather be wrong.

This is another photo I took a few days earlier, right after a thunderstorm. I like this better.

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Lately it's been much better to stay inside and read.

It can be nice to sit in our house and let the summer breeze blow past. Or, to get even more breeze, we could open the windows.

My house leaks like a Washington insider. Over the years we’ve stuffed cracks and other openings with anything we could find: towels, sandbags, small cars, door to door salesmen, whatever. A nice breeze isn’t what you want come November.

We don’t know exactly how old the place is, but Fred Markey carved the date 1879 into a garage wall. Is that when he was born? When he built the house? Or when he got cabin fever and went crazy with a knife?

(Note: I've learned he was 16 years old at the time. Who wasn't doing a little mischief at 16?)

The walls once held blown in insulation, but over time it settled, or possibly got carried off by mice. Now we have the annual, depressing, tradition called “winterizing”.

Okay, well, not so bad so far.

Winterizing reminds me that winter’s coming. Winter comes every year, usually in the fall. It’s like it’s seasonal, or something.

Hm … maybe that 1879 carving commemorated the winter they found Fred Markey frozen to the outhouse seat. It would be embarrassing to be frozen to indoor plumbing, so we winterize, starting with storm windows. Traditionally they’re installed just before an unusual warm front comes through, forcing you to decide whether to take them back down to let warm air in, or just curse the fates.

I also put plastic up on the inside of the windows. You put double sided tape around each window, then place the plastic on it, then curse and flounder as the tape falls off. Then you put the plastic on again and use a hair drier, which tightens it up so wrinkles don’t show. NOTE: This does not work on skin.

You can also use spray foam insulation and caulk, to seal cracks. The main purpose of these substances is to form permanent crusts on clothing. They’re also fairly effective at removing skin.

At some point, the furnace has to be started for the season. This is always a time of great interest in my house: I’m interested to know if it will start. I have hot water radiators, and the water is heated by a boiler. Me waving a match over a pilot light to start a boiler is akin to Wiley Coyote opening the latest package from Acme Co. You know something is going to happen; you just don’t know if the result will be ashes and singed hair, or a flattened body against the wall.

But I seriously considered doing none of that this year.

It's because of putting on the air conditioner cover. Not on myself. The polyvinyl cover has a couple of elastic strings attached to it. The instructions say to wrap the strings around the cover, hook them over the air conditioner, and voila—instant winterization.

Until the first time the wind blows.

Then you need duct tape. Rolls and rolls of duct tape.

This year I put the cover over the air conditioner, then waved for a truck to back in. I’d ordered a dump truck load of duct tape. They dumped it right into my driveway, and other than the dozen or so rolls that rolled down the hill out back (should have seen that coming), I was set.

I taped the cover to the conditioner. I taped the cover to the window. I taped the cover to the wall, the conditioner to the window, the wall to the conditioner, and I finished by taping the tape to the tape. There was now no sign of the green plastic cover. I might as well have skipped it and just made a duct-cover.

By then the sun had set on my duct tape paradise, so I did some winterizing inside, such as replacing the door-to-door salesmen in the cracks. The next morning we had some errands to run, so I pulled on my coat, walked out the door, and stepped on the air conditioner cover.

I took this picture while standing on my air conditioner cover. That is not normal.

Some of the tape was still on the cover.

Some of the tape was still on the wall.

But they were no longer connected to each other.

I said something then that I rarely say in public, and would be best off not repeating here. Then I stumbled back inside and collapsed on the couch, where my wife took in my red face and the steam coming from my ears, and tried to decide whether to dial 911.

And that’s why I’m considering giving up on the whole winterizing thing. What, I can’t build a fire in the bathtub and hover over it all winter? It probably worked for Fred Markey.

By the way, I’ve got some used duct tape for sale … cheap.

 So ... tornadoes.

I don't need to say "possible" tornadoes, because several people got videos and photos of the funnels and their damage. I headed up to dispatch, and so the photos I'm showing were taken from the dispatch window a short time after the fact.

It got pretty funky for awhile, but by the time I got to work the twisters were just crossing into LaGrange County, heading northeast. (If you're not from Indiana, LaGrange County is directly north of us in Noble County, and borders the Michigan state line.) We got a fair amount of rain, which is good for our drought, but I never noticed any thunder from here. I believe the closest the confirmed funnels got to us was five or six miles, and heading away.

And this is looking pretty much straight east. The lighted rectangle is ... well, a rectangular light, behind me.

This is looking toward the east also, as the storms moved away from us. Those clouds are close to, or over, Ohio, which I believe also had a tornado warning. We were paying more attention at the time to the tornado cutting a swath through LaGrange County. There wasn't much warning, because the storm basically formed and dropped its funnels right over us. The damage was largely in the Ligonier area, northwest of Albion. It could have been worse: Many funnels that didn't reach the ground were also spotted.

 It's a little hard to see, but that's a large flock of birds that took off shortly after the storm passed. Maybe headed south, or maybe "anywhere but here".

And a final photo of the courthouse as the clouds clear, with the birds above. I've noticed that building has "moods" based on the lighting conditions, and this time around it was kind of spooky.

From what I'm hearing at this point it sounds like two tornadoes actually touched down, one in Noble County and one that caused damage all the way through LaGrange County. In Noble County some buildings were damaged, including a residence that lost its roof. The Ligonier area lost power, and we had to call out firefighters and the Noble County Highway Department to clear trees from roadways. Stop lights were out, power lines down--the usual.

For awhile we had six dispatchers in here, where normally we'd have two or three. All the emergency services were pretty busy, as you might imagine, and we stayed busy for awhile. Still, we had no reported injuries here in Noble, so there's that--but two people were injured in LaGrange County when the Amish buggy they were in was hit. (No, I haven't heard anything about the horse's condition.)

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Remember: If you have enough books, they can cushion you from strong winds.

 I'm a huge astronomy geek. The only way I could get more excited about the upcoming solar eclipse would be if it caused chocolate to fall from the sky.

Just the same, the fuss going on ahead of the April 8th event has passed the hubbub stage, and gone straight into a hullabaloo. I feel compelled to throw some water on the excitement ... and that may be close to literal, in this case.

In 2017 Emily and I drove from her father's house to a state park in Missouri to be in the path of the total eclipse. Even though it was in the middle of nowhere, a good crowd showed up on a very hot August day.

There's your first sign of trouble: August weather is different from April weather. In fact, the odds are it'll be cloudy on the 8th, and it's a short jump from there to rain. In one of my novels a character does a rain dance, but I'm not sure an anti-rain dance even exists.

In the path of totality it'll still be interesting even if it's cloudy. Well, probably: I've only been to one total eclipse, and up until the moment it disappeared the Sun was ripping off our skin.

But they're nothing like a total eclipse. Nothing. A total eclipse is literally breathtaking. Nature seems to stand still, the wind dies, stars and planets come out. For an brief, incredible moment as the Moon completely covers the Sun, you can look directly at it.

The problem is, the area of the total eclipse is just a hundred miles or so wide.

I haven't heard that talked about a lot, and I'm afraid people not directly in the path are going to be disappointed. Where I live and in the closest city, Fort Wayne, the Sun will be over 90% covered, but not totally. It will NOT be safe at any time to look at the Sun without special protection. It'll still be cool if you're into that kind of thing, as I am.

But we're driving south, to be in the path of totality. It's a long wait for a short event, but it's worth the wait. Besides, it's just as likely to be cloudy here as there. That's the reason why officials are so worried about traffic on eclipse day, especially right after totality: People crowding into that 100 mile long strip, then heading for home.

In 2017 that wasn't a problem for Emily and me: We got there early, and afterward we hit the park trails for a few hours, until the traffic had cleared some. That's our plan this time, too. We'll have a full tank of gas, snacks, fluids, cell phones and their chargers, a few issues of "Writer's Digest", and some print books, too. Hopefully we'll find a place near a bathroom.

So there are your dual problems: Anyone from around here and in many other places will have to travel to see the full eclipse, and even those who don't are likely to find their view spoiled by typical Midwest spring weather. Add the expected traffic jam for an event that will climax over a period of about four minutes, and you could be forgiven for staying where you are and watching most of the sun disappear through eclipse glasses.

But us? We can't wait.

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 She pops out for a day, shows a little leg, smiles demurely, and disappears again, leaving her anxious suitors to suffer through more cold and wet. It’s hardly any wonder that the symbol of weather should run hot and cold, but sheesh – enough is enough.

The stupid groundhog predicted an early spring, but he didn't say it would come all at once. What is a groundhog, anyway? It’s a big rat. Set a trap, somebody.

Even more than usual, our weather pattern looks like a heartbeat on an EKG. It reminds me the old days, when I walked to school barefoot, in a raging blizzard every morning and a blistering heat wave in the afternoon. (Uphill both ways, blah blah blah.)

I really should get around to admitting I only lived two blocks from school.

As a result of the bouncing weather, some people say they'd rather it just stay cold all the time. Their brains are still frozen. Saying cold all the time instead of warm some of the time is like saying that, since you can’t eat 24 hours a day, you’d rather just starve. To carry the heavy comparison further, I’d rather weigh 300 pounds but be alive than be the first member of my family to voluntarily starve to death.

Most of my best winter photos are taken from inside. I care less about glare than I do about frostbite.

Summer now goes by much more quickly than it used to, and winter – strange as our recent winters have been – lasts much longer. When I was a kid, the average summer lasted eighteen months. Seriously. I would go out to play after breakfast, and wouldn’t come in again for three days, just in time for lunch. The summer when I turned nine lasted for over six years. It’s a science-fictiony mystery, but there you go. We went down to Kentucky for a two week vacation that lasted so long we had to cut down trees to get the car back on the road.

And it never got hot. Kids could wake up in the hospital with two IV’s in their arms to rehydrate them, and have no idea they were ever overheated. Then they’d go home and run back outside again. Sure, most of us didn’t notice the cold, either, but we sure noticed when we started getting feeling back into our limbs. It was like getting a power pinch from our least favorite aunt – all over.

Isn't this fun? SO much fun. Later I'm having hot chocolate and a good cry.

Even the bad things about summer are proof that summer is good:

Bugs? Hate ‘em. But why do they come out during the spring? Because during winter they’re dead. Everything’s dead. It’s a dead season. Mother Nature is dead – the first lightning storm of the spring is like a giant defibrillator, starting her heart back up.

No lawn mowing during winter. Why? Grass is dead. No poison ivy during winter. Why? Dead. Snakes? Dead. No spiders during the winter. (Spiders are not bugs. Bugs are just bugs – spiders are evil.) Even spiders know dead when they see it, although many think it looks like the bottom of my shoe.

Hot and humid is unpleasant, I get that, but nobody's car ever slid into a snowbank because the sun was shining too much. No poor match girl ever froze to death under a shade tree during an Independence Day celebration.

Tornadoes? Terrible things, mile-wide vacuum cleaners. But blizzards have covered half the friggin’ country. Besides, no matter how strong it was, no meteorologist ever mentioned “tornado” in the same sentence as “wind chill”.

Winter even smells dead – spring smells of fresh cut grass, and lilacs, and that earthy scent that comes with a warm summer rain. And yes, it also smells of hot asphalt, and dairy farms, and sweat, but that’s a small price to pay for driving down a country road with the window open and breathing deeply as you pass a cornfield.

Pretty, isn't it? And DEAD.

Almost everything’s green, with patches of other bright colors like spotting a forgotten twenty dollar bill. Green is life. Winter has no color: It’s black and white and dead all over. I could also go for the cliché and mention the sounds – birds, frogs, insects, all more relaxing than the sound of sleet on siding, or furnaces kicking on. Finally, lest we forget, the feel of walking around in shorts and shirtsleeves, without the accompanying frostbite.

Warmth makes everything a little better. Sure, you can’t store your frozen goods on the back porch, but that’s a small price to pay for opening the window and breathing real air.

So come on out, Mother Nature, don’t be a tease. And don’t bother bringing your winter coat.

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Remember: When wrapped in plastic, books make good umbrellas. Use hardcover.

  I posted this a few years ago, but it's about winter generally, which makes it an evergreen. So to speak. The funny thing is, within days of me deciding to rerun it, the snow started melting away. I should write a song about freezing rain, or fog.

I hate winter. Well, only if I have to go out in it, or pay for heating the house, or if it’s winter. Otherwise I don’t mind. Anyway, parody songs are only good if you’re familiar with the original, which in this case is “Let It Go” from Frozen. If you have kids of a certain age, you’ve not only heard it, you’re sick of it. (I’m not–but my kids are all grown up, and I’ve only seen the movie once.) If you haven’t heard it, here’s the song:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QnN6glKaWdE

Or see the original lyrics here: 

https://genius.com/Idina-menzel-let-it-go-lyrics
 

I know what you’re thinking: “Why, Mark? Why?” Good question—I don’t even find it easy. But I present you with: “Stop the Snow”.

 

But ... I'm so cool!

The snow’s piled high almost to my thigh
It’s so cold I want to scream
No sign of spring salvation
I’m stuck in a snow globe dream

The wind howls through windows, bringing swirling snow inside
Couldn’t keep it out, plastic sheets I tried

Let the dog in, his frozen pee
Is an icicle I never want to see
My hands can’t feel—this weather blows
Thanks to the snow

Stop the snow, stop the snow
Can’t get my car unstuck
If I had enough dough
I’d move away from all this yuck
I know just what the forecasts say
Get your storm rage on
I’m stuck in my drive anyway.

It’s funny how this temperature
makes everything seem blue
And if you don’t see the misery
there’s something wrong with you.

It’s time to go and break the ice
To start the car, oh please play nice
No lights, no juice, not to be rude
I’m screwed

Stop the snow, stop the snow
Just one day when it’s warm and dry
Car won’t go in the snow
Ice falls down from tears I cry
Here I push in four foot drifts
Till my hands freeze on …

A patch of ice takes me to the ground
Underneath the snow it’s all cold, dead and brown
And one thought penetrates my frozen brain
Summer’s not so bad—I don’t mind the rain

Stop the snow, stop the snow
My car’s buried in five foot drifts
I can’t feel, my own toes
I’ll never make it to my shift
My hands are blue and my face is white
I could use a lift
But the snow plow buries and passes by.
 

 Seasonal changes can get confusing. Of course, every place in the world has the same expression: If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes: It'll change. (There are possible exceptions, such as, say, the middle of the Sahara.)

The reason it's a universal concept is because it's true. But I'll add something: I have the ability to effect the weather.

How do I do this? By not wanting to.

Some things thrive no matter what the weather. I am not one of those things.

I've known for years that what we used to call Indian Summer would not arrive in Indiana until I've completely winterized the house. September, November--doesn't matter. Winterizing my house, which was built before anyone had ever heard of winterizing, is serious business. A square mile of clear plastic is involved. Six miles of various kinds of tape. I swaddle the air conditioner with a special cover designed just for it ... to which I add numerous yards of duct tape, after once finding the cover wrapped around the bank sign next door.

This must all be done before the last warm weather of summer arrives.

I found this growing in the back yard this spring. Not sure when it was planted, but it doesn't seem to need much water.

One year, as an experiment, I didn't prepare for winter at all. We had no autumn that time around: It went straight from summer into winter. Honestly, I don't think the frozen pipes and hypothermia were worth proving the point.

This spring I thought I had it beat (again). I watched the long range forecast very carefully, and instead of opening up the house for spring, I waited until I saw the inevitable spring snowstorm approach. It did, then the temperatures got into the 70s. That Friday I happily turned off the furnace and took down the storm windows.

That Saturday I brought out the space heaters and extra blankets. For meals that weekend we baked every bit of frozen food we had, and slept by the stove. We made the dog sleep with us, which annoyed him greatly--he already has a fur coat.

"Sunshine makes me smile. And pant."

So there you have it: I can control the weather. Kneel before me.

Or at least, bring me some firewood.

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 Ironically, I got busy with the weather and didn't get a new blog written--but this one's from nine years ago, and in internet terms it might as well be brand new.

A funnel cloud. And no, I wasn't going to get any closer.

 

 As a group, humans have an amazing ability to screw themselves.

Not literally, mind you. I mean, if we could do that, we'd never leave the house.

Whenever bad weather approaches, I take it upon myself to warn people as much as I'm able, for two reasons: First, it's the decent thing to do. This is a foreign concept for some people, but it's not like it takes a lot of resources to type "Funnel cloud sighted! And by the way, buy my books in the Storm Chaser series."

Okay, so I throw in a commercial here and there: So does The Weather Channel.

Meh ... I've seen worse.

The second reason is laziness. I'm a dispatcher, and whenever severe weather hits we're guaranteed to be a lot busier. I don't like being a lot busier. A little busy is just fine, thank you.

So as soon as the experts (I'm not an expert--it turns out the words "meteorology" and "degree" go together) predicted foul weather for the upcoming Christmas weekend, I shouted it from the rooftops.

Okay, well, I shouted it from social media. Nobody really listens on the rooftops, anymore. Besides, it's slippery up there.

Some people appreciate the warning, and I like to think I've saved them some trouble, here and there. But the biggest response weather forecasts get is "Yeah, whatever--they're always wrong".

Which isn't true, but it is true that bad weather is notoriously difficult to predict in detail. Good weather's much easier--go figure.

Which brings us to the second and more common response: "Yeah, it probably won't even flurry." Followed by two parties and twelve beers, because we're talking about people who don't recognize danger signs.

"What's this crap? Why was I not notified?"

As of this moment, late Monday, forecasters are guaranteeing two things in northern Indiana this weekend: It'll be bitterly cold, and it'll be so windy I'll be bitter. It also appears pretty certain that--surprise!--the whole thing will begin with rain on Thursday.

More rain means less snow. I'm all for that, except for the strong cold front and the whole flash freezing thing. Flash Freezing is not a DC comic villain, people.

Everyone is stressing over snow, and as of now the forecast really is between 2 and 18 inches. It depends on the track of the storm and how far the wind drives lake effect snow, but here's the part people ignore: While we may get the low end of that scale, there's no reason why we shouldn't get the high end. To compare, during the Blizzard of '78 Fort Wayne got about 17 inches of snow. Somebody in the Midwest is going to get that much this weekend. Why not us?

Given the choice, I'd prefer my car remain in the driveway. All winter.

Forget snow amounts, and consider this: There is more than one kind of blizzard. One type often happens after snowstorms, when sustained strong winds blow the fallen snow around, causing drifting and extreme driving hazards.

Snow, followed by cold temps and long-term strong winds?

That's the forecast for this weekend.

So I'm just the messenger, with some reminders:

Four wheel drive is useless on ice. The only good your big truck might do is help compensate for something.

Many emergency vehicles and tow trucks do NOT have four wheel drive, and 4WD might not get through severe drifting, anyway. So if you have to go out, stock your vehicle with whatever you might need to survive for awhile.

Most county and municipal snow plows will not be out 24/7. They have only one shift, and the drivers need rest. If you have to go out stick to main roads, but remember: If it gets bad enough long enough, the Indiana Department of Transportation might have to pull their plows off the road, also.

If your employer requires you to come to work no matter what the road conditions, you need a new employer. Or let them come pick you up, if they think it's not bad. With the exception of essential jobs (like mine, but I can slog down the sidewalk), there's no reason to endanger someone for the sake of a paycheck.

Utility companies also can't come out if the roads are blocked. Make preparations for long-term power outages.

Here's the fun part: Almost everything done to prepare for a snowstorm should be done to prepare for any disaster or weather emergency. Food, water, medicine, warmth, books, not necessarily in that order.

You might think I'm kidding about the books, but if you have kids at home you need to look after your own sanity, and locking them in the garage is not socially acceptable. Remember, whatever they do to pass the time, they'll run out of battery power sooner or later.

As for me, don't you worry: I may have to work this weekend, but I'll dress warmly.

My other car is a sleigh!

Don't forget, Coming Attractions remains free on Smashwords for the rest of the year:

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And as usual, find all our books here:

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With the dog and I both sick and the weather a study in hell, I haven't felt like going outside. The last time this happened, I spent a few days doing internet searches for:

Antique fire trucks, natural cliff climbing spots near Chicago, Harlequin Great Dane dogs, climbing and rappelling gear, highway cuts, dog lift harnesses, the most common Louisiana surnames, antique car restoration, and first names for men and women.

I do my research with dogged determination.

Either the infection reached my brain, or it was time for another novel research session.

Not that I don't have plenty of other work to do, in submitting, editing, and promoting other book projects. Oh, and my day job, which is at night. But when it comes to submitting, there's a certain amount of waiting involved, anyway. So I came up with an idea for a new story, and sometimes a writer just wants to kick back and do the fun stuff, which for me is researching, creating characters, and writing that first draft. I mean, fun when it's not frustrating.

At least I won't get as much Federal attention as when I started work on The Source Emerald, and researched such things as the FBI, jewel smuggling, cross country travel routes, and types of handguns.

So ... what kind of story should I research for next?

When I started writing the Storm Chaser books, I did so much weather research I should have earned a meteorology degree.